


Coming Home

by J_Flattermann



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Flattermann/pseuds/J_Flattermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: If you are keen on Happy Endings please avoid reading the last chapter called "Epilogue"!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Path Galen - Aftermath

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kd04q/)   
  
  
**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)  

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 1 [771];

BETA: [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who I can't thank enough.

 

** Chapter 1 **

 

They pushed the boat out into the current and it picked up speed. Drawn towards the falls. Their gazes followed as if they hoped something would stir. However, it was to late now. They couldn't reach the vessel carrying the treasured cargo.

The boat vanished around the river bend and rushed onwards to the edge of the falls. As soon as it disappeared from their view the three friends grabbed their gear and followed the trail of their kidnapped friends. 

 

The boat went faster and faster until it finally hit the water's edge and it flew down the vertical fall. Man, weapons, horn, all went over in free fall. 

 

The minute he hit the water below, Boromir regained consciousness. The hard strike pressed the air out of his lungs. He gasped, only to cough and splutter the water he swallowed.

His survival instincts kicked in and he started to swim to the surface. 

 

But his garments and the heavy armour pulled him down. He started to struggle with his leather belt which became slippery and swollen with the water. He finally managed to unbuckle it. The belt dropped to the bottom of the pool created by the falling water. Next Boromir shed his heavy overcoat and then the chainmail shirt.  Left wearing only his leggings and undershirt he swam to the shore. The struggle to get rid of the clothes while at the same time fighting to remain at the water surface had weakened him. He crawled up the rocky shore and utterly exhausted and shivering with cold, fell on the spot. 

 

He must have lost consciousness again, for when he came to the light had begun to fade. He peered out at the water looking for the boat, but the vessel was nowhere to be seen. Drifted down the river most certainly. With his weapons and his warm clothes under water, he was left with no other choice but to make a fire if he wanted to get warm.

 

He knew how dangerous this undertaking would be as the light and the smoke would alert his enemies to his exact position. There was no way  to ensure there weren't more Orcs and Uruks around. He went into the woods and gathered broken branches and dried moss for his fire, checking that all the ingredients were thoroughly dry so not to create unnecessary smoke. Boromir went back to the shore and between the rocks he laid out his wood and mosses. He started to create a firemaking device which looked a little like a bow and arrow. He placed the moss close to the bark he had collected and started to drill his 'arrow' into the soft bark. It did not took him long and the first little smoke emerged. Boromir shook the first smouldering mulch into the moss and cautiously blew on it until a small flame sprang to life. 

 

He now placed the branches one after the other on top of the burning moss and soon a small fire warmed him.  Stripping of the wet shirt he placed it on sticks to dry by the fire while he huddled close shivering with cold. Before the night fell he would have to put it out so as not to give away his position. 

 

When the sun sank behind the mountain range he quenched the fire and put his now dry and warmed shirt back on. Without weapons he feared an easy ambush and therefore climbed up the nearest tree to spend the night in the security of its branches. 

 

He spend the night more awake than asleep as the cold penetrated each bone and every noise made him jump up in alert. He needed his weapons back and soon. He knew that the current was not strong enough to move his heavy sword. Therefore he would dive for it tomorrow. 

 

Next morning couldn't come early enough for Boromir. He was stiff from his night spent in the tree and it made his descend clumsy. Down on firm ground he stretched his limbs as best as possible. After having checked that no enemy was near, he proceeded down to the river again. There he stripped and moved slowly into the cold water. On first impact he drew several deep breaths and bracing himself he dived in. 

 

His possessions were strewn all over the river bottom and he spent all morning fishing everything out. Just one item he couldn't find – his horn. 

Little did know that the horn and boat had been washed down river and found near Osgiliath. 


	2. Return from the Dead

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000k6f4r/s320x240)

**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 2 [835]

BETA: [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who I can't thank enough.

 

 

  
** Chapter 2 **   


 

After having spent all morning in the icy waters of the River Anduin Boromir lit a fire again, drying himself and his overcoat. The chainmail was more or less ruined but he decided that he would dismantle it and turn it into a long chain. He had rescued his dagger during his initial swim to land. He would use it to bend the rings of the chainmail open. 

 

What worried him a little was that he only had weapons that worked at close range. Having been attacked and almost killed by arrows, he felt he needed a weapon that would work at a farther range.. He looked at his gear rescued from the bottom of the river. His shield, his sword, his heavy but warm velvet overcoat and his leather vambraces. The long black leather jerkin was still a little damp and would be awkward to wear after it dried. It would be very stiff and would have to be kneaded thoroughly before it was once again soft enough that he could comfortably move in it. 

 

But for now he could only wait until the heavy leather was dried through and through. Then he would beat the leather with stones until it was supple. 

 

By noon the blueish colour in his lips and limbs had vanished thanks to the warmth of the fire. Boromir realized that he hadn't eaten and went back to the river, but the water was to disturbed by the turbulence of the waterfall for him to try fishing  He turned over the rocks on the shore and picked up clams and crabs. Smashing them open with stones he sucked them dry.  It was not filling but did quench the first pangs of hunger. 

 

The memory of the last few days returned in flashes. He had remembered nothing after the moment he met Frodo in the woods. Now the memories came back slowly, bit by bit. With these memories came shame and he buried his face in his hands and wept.  If he could only prove himself to the others, redeem himself.

 

Once his gear was dried, he quickly sped back up the river to where he had landed with his friends in the elven boats. He did not know how much time had passed since then, but he was determined to pick up their trail. However when he got there the trail had gone cold. He saw that the fellowship had split. Saw old tracks of Hobbit feet moving towards the riverbank. Saw the tracks of the Orcs and Uruks and at last, the prints of the three hunters. But these were all many days old.  He walked back to the riverbank and in shock saw the signs of his burial. 

 

They thought him dead.

 

Deep remorse overcame him. They had given him an honorary burial despite his betrayal. He saw the notes left on the tree branches; the written elegies from his friends. Such was the tradition of the Eldar. Slowly the picture in his head filled with the missing gaps and he recalled being laid in a boat and the caste off. Tears of sorrow welled up in his eyes at the thought of his mourning friends. How they had expressed their loss. 

 

Like fiery waves a shock ran through his veins. Had the news already reached Gondor? Was Gondor in mourning over their lost son? Oh great Valar forbid! They would have no time for burial ceremonials. There was too much at stake. 

 

Multiple scenarios shot through his brain. What was he to do? Where would he be needed most? Should he follow the two Hobbits, whose track led to the water and obviously across to the other side of the  river?  He had recognised the prints immediately. Frodo and Sam. Frodo had gone first, Sam followed. He assumed they had taken one of the boats and crossed over unnoticed in the havoc of the fight against the Orcs and Uruks.

 

Or should he try to catch-up with the three hunters, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli? They had stayed on this side of the river and followed the attackers. He remembered that the Orcs had captured the two remaining Hobbits, Pippin and Merry. He blamed himself for their capture.  He had not only failed Frodo, but also Pippin and Merry. Had allowed their enemies to lay hands on them. 

 

His thoughts returned to Gondor. How devastated his father, his brother, all Gondor must be over his assumed death. Wasn't his place at their side in these dark hours?

 

The arrow wounds in his shoulder and chest still ached.  An arrowhead was buried deep in his chest stopped only by a rib.  He had to remove it before it started to fester or worse moved and pierced his heart.  For the first time in his live he felt indecisive. 

 

He sat down, resting his back against the same tree that had presumably seen his death. 

 

*****************************************


	3. Healing Time

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kaprg/)  
Picture courtesy THE ONE RING.  
  
  
  
  


**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)  

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 3 [811]

BETA: [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who is such a great help. Thank you so much, my dear friend.

 

 

 

** Chapter 3 **

 

It took him a while before he found the strength to rise and prepare for the removal of the arrowhead in his chest. With great skill he built something resembling a hearth and with a quickly kindled fire he placed his dagger in the flames. Not to ruin his clothes he removed all until he was stark naked. He moved closer to the hearth and fished his knife out of the flames. The arrow had entered his chest directly under his left nipple. Boromir flattened his chest with his left hand and after clenching his teeth tight he cut the almost closed wound open.  Digging deeper with his dagger he finally managed to ease out the entire remains of the arrow. 

 

The picture replayed in his mind of when he had been hit and how the shaft of the arrow had been broken.. He remembered other arrows hitting him and he began to inspect his body, looking for wounds and possibly other hidden missiles. However there were no other open wounds nor any parts of weapons to be found. Aragorn must have removed them before placing him into the boat. Only he could not remember that no matter how hard he tried. 

 

As there were no other wounds to tend he pulled out a stick of burning wood from the fire and pressed it onto the open wound on his left breast. The only audible sign of his ordeal was a sharp intake of breath, but no scream escaped his lips. 

 

Every Gondorian soldier had to complete a strict training routine. Part of this harsh drill was to learn how to dress wounds inflicted during combat. Therefore Boromir knew exactly how to deal with his injury and he had made his preparations carefully before starting the surgery.  Leaves of Plantain, Yarrow and Nettles had been collected; the first two to prevent sepsis and the latter to reduce the loss of blood. He had cut the fresh leaves into small pieces and using strips cut from his undershirt,  formed them into a small parcel. This he pressed  to the wound and secured it with a larger strip of cloth. The ends were tied together and the remainder of his undershirt went back on top. 

 

Boromir was just about to clean his dagger when he was startled by a rustling of leaves behind his back. Swiftly he turned and threw the knife.

 

A shrill squeal filled the air and when he reached the spot he found his weapon buried in the body of a large rabbit. Boromir smiled at his luck.  Since it was full daylight he had no fear of coming across any of his enemies. The rabbit however would make a wonderful meal and the stew he planned to prepare would restore his strength. 

During the last couple of days Boromir had kept himself busy and even while resting was occupied with hand craft. In this manner he had fashioned several wooden bowls for eating, drinking and cooking. While waiting for his food to cook he either carved a spoon or a fork or worked at the chainmail. 

 

Still he had no weapon for wider ranged defence. In his mind he played with the thought of creating a bow just like the one Legolas had used. Only the necessary materials were lacking as he needed willow for the bow and animal sinews for the string. For arrows he needed harder woods like hazel. But nothing of the like was to be found.  _Patience, Boromir!_  He said to himself over and over again. 

 

After he had feasted on rabbit, berries and roots, he broke camp. Boromir knew he could not afford to stay long in any place he had lit a fire. He would need to find a tree to spend the night in. The last couple of nights had revealed that the woods swarmed with Orcs and Goblins after dark. 

 

Boromir had kept a close eye on the enemies traffic during the small hours. The short time he had spent with the Elf, the dwarf and the wizard had made him receptive to different languages. Yes, even Aragorn and the Hobbits had spoken in different dialects from what he had been used to in Gondor. 

 

All this proved to be a benefit now, as he easier understood the communications between the Goblins and the Orcs. This part of the wood obviously was borderland between Mordor and Isengard and even though the Goblins never moved towards Mordor and the Orcs never to Isengard, both met and exchanged orders and information coming from Sauron or Saruman. 

 

Boromir eavesdropped on every occasion and memorized the things heard. Though it might not be helpful now, he knew it would be very useful as soon as he reached Minas Tirith. 

 

*************************************


	4. Orc Attack

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kbt48/)   
  


**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount Chapter 4 [962]

BETA: [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , thank you for your time and effort and most of all for your friendship.

 

   
 **Chapter 4**  


 

Boromir grew angry and restless. He was not used to being out of action. With the fellowship broken and the members gone in different directions, he felt useless. But he would not leave the area without disrupting that nightly traffic. By doing so he was sure he would create enough of a distraction to give all of his friends a respite, wherever they were and whatever they were up to. For a while he, Boromir would focus the attentions of the enemy on his person. 

 

Before nightfall he made his preparations for the Goblin / Orc trap. Hoped to catch as many as possible. As soon as the sun sank behind the Ered Nimrais, the path below him became alive again. Just now the squabble from a squadron of Orcs approaching from the Mouths of the Entwash could be heard. From his lofty hideaway Boromir could see the Goblins of Isengard as they crossed the Snowbourn. It looked as if both parties planned their rendezvous right under his nose. Almost shivering in anticipation Boromir needed only to wait. 

 

He quickly checked his devices. Yes, he was ready. Ready for them. The two approaching parties met right under Boromir's tree. Walked straight into the laid out trap. Boromir pulled the ropes and the freed branches sprang back into their normal position,  releasing a shower of rocks on the unsuspecting enemies. Another pull and the trap closed, lifting Orcs and Goblins off the ground to dangle by their feet. 

 

The wood suddenly filled with screams and curses which died away one by one as Boromir went and cut the throats of his prey.

 

The dark wood felt eerie once the echo of the last scream faded.  _This will do for now,_  Boromir thought and retreated to the tree he preferred to sleep in. He hoped that the ruckus and dealings of the night would attract the attention of Sauron and Saruman alike.  _Let's see if we can't keep them off balance for a while_ , was his last thought before falling asleep.

 

The next morning when he was preparing to descend the tree he noticed a flock of excited birds fluttering over the neighbouring trees. Peering about he realized the birds had been agitated by an Orc riding on a huge warg. He chuckled; his little stunt had drawn attention just as he had hoped. But now he had to think of disposing of warg and rider and there was not much time to loose.

 

He climbed down the tree and hurried to those traps which had not been used in the previous night's attack. After checking on them he went over to the ones previously employed. He selected those which were still usable and made his final adjustments. The Orc scout would be on him any minute now. Thank goodness to the awkward size of the warg. The Orc struggled to control the beast and guide it through the forest and so made slow progress. The two made so much noise they could be heard miles away.

 

 Boromir climbed back up the tree to survey his surroundings. Suspicious of the supposed difficulties of the Orc scout, he wondered if was a trap. It would be best to make sure there were not more attackers on their way. A good thing it was too. He saw the footsoldiers of Mordor moving slowly in behind the scout. He had to be on his guard.  _One at a time,_  he thought. He would take on the warg rider first and with luck he could use the beast against the following forces.

 

All that was required was thorough preparations and perfect timing. As an experienced soldier he was most certainly up for the challenge. So he descended to the ground trying to attract the attention of the Orc on his fierce ride.

 

 It was necessary to manoeuvre his enemy into the right direction. Once the scout was overwhelmed he would steer the warg into the path of the footsoldiers lying in ambush.  _Let them fight each other first_ _,_  he said to himself.  _The more gone the easier it will get._     Soon the warg was in full charge towards him and he pulled the chain at the very last minute. The warg rider crashed to the ground while his beast smashed into the woods creating confusion among the soldiers of Mordor. 

 

The chain had snapped the scout's neck and he fell dead to the ground. Collecting his hand made spears Boromir immeadiately followed the warg. The beast was running about creating havoc. Orc soldiers were either maimed by the feet of the rampaging beast or torn to pieces by his jaws. Instead of attacking Boromir, the Orcs were forced to defend themselves. With each blow that struck the warg, the massive beast grew more ferocious. Boromir  had only to follow behind and deal with those Orcs left alive by the animal. 

 

Realizing they could not defeat the beast and the man following at it's heels, the surviving Orcs fled. There were weapons aplenty and he only had to pick off the ground those he needed. Boromir selected a strong-bow and a quiver with several arrows. With deadly accuracy, his arrows found their target and brought the beast down.

 

Boromir looked around and saw a field of slain Orcs. This had gone better than expected. He moved over to the warg and skinned the beast. The hide, smelling horribly, would become handy when the weather deteriorated again. It was still only March and even April in this parts of Middle Earth could bring sleet or snow showers with bitterly cold nights.

 

 

  
******************************************************   



	5. Homeward Bound

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000qbsxb/)Picture courtesy of [misterdavid.typepad.com/middle_earth/page/2/](http://misterdavid.typepad.com/middle_earth/page/2/)

  
**  
**

**Title: COMING HOME**

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)    

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 5 [930]

Special thanks to [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/)  for acting as my Beta.

 

 

** Chapter 5 **

 

It was time to move on. The lords of Mordor and Isengard would not let this insult go unpunished.  The question was how to depart without leaving a trace. Or better still leave traces pointing in the wrong direction.  If he could arrange it he would top it with sowing mistrust between the two alliances. 

 

There was not much more to be done on the battlefield  Most of those dead had been killed by the warg anyway. The few he had disposed of were given additional wounds to make it look as if Mordor had turned against Isengard. 

 

Those he had ambushed in the forest showed signs of the goblins of Isengard turning on the Orcs of Mordor. The future would show if his little trickery worked. What was to be avoided at all cost was any hint or suspicion of the involvement of Rohan or Gondor. 

 

As Aragorn had shown him, Boromir removed all traces of his presence in the fashion of the rangers from the North. He needed to ensure he would not be followed. He walked for several miles along the water's edge trusting that the river would wash away his scent and footprints. The pebbles were slippery and uncomfortable to walk on. His heavy backpack was not helping either. But accustomed to long marches he kept his footing even on the rocky riverbed. The goal was to put as many miles possible between himself and the battlefield in only one days time. 

 

After crossing the Entwash he followed it to its mouth. When he came to the estuary of the river Mering he decided to turn towards the Great West Road connecting Edoras and Minas Tirith. However once he crossed the Mering he would leave the road again to hide in Firien Wood. He feared drawing to much attention to himself  walking along this road with its heavy traffic.

 

Even for Boromir, a well trained soldier, it would take at least three days following this route. Dangerous as it was and with him desperate to remain unnoticed it might take even longer. He had to be extra careful as his direction would lead him along the border of Rohan. The Rohirim were well-known for guarding their borders with vigilant and regular patrols. In these troubled times they might even increase their guards.

 

Walking after nightfall was much to dangerous and would arouse suspicion. No, he had to walk in broad daylight. However he would take precautions not to betray his identity and so hid all items that gave him away as an influential Gondorian. Boromir even reversed his velvet overcoat  to hide the expensive embroideries, sleeves tucked into the vambraces. 

 

The jerkin now had a scruffy look  It had been damaged by water and his subsequent beating it with stones to soften the leather again. Boromir looked into a pool in one of the side branches of the Entwash River.  The very slow moving water functioned almost like a perfect mirror. The face he saw there reflecting from the surface was nearly unrecognizable. His cheeks were hollow, dark shadows lay under his eyes, his hair dirty and unkempt and the lower part of his face hidden in a thick and dirty beard. He looked more like a regular Gondorian soldier than the son of the Steward of Gondor.

 

  
_Nobody will recognise me, looking like this._ He thought. His swords, carefully wrapped in the remnants of his undershirt, and his dagger, tucked deep into his belt, would not betray him either. If questioned he could always claim to have found them in the river.  _That wouldn't even be a lie._ He grinned. 

 

His lips were dry and cracked, and wiping his face smeared blood all over it. Dirt caked his hands and face. If the Rohirim stopped him, he would claim to being involved in a skirmish at the Gondorian border. Separated from his comrades after loosing consciousness when wounded in battle. The wounds on his body would support his story. First and foremost he would prefer not to encounter anyone at all. 

 

He was glad that he knew the terrain so well  from his frequent patrolling of the region. The crossing of the Entwash had been the most difficult part of the undertaking. The overwhelming reason for selecting this route was that the Rohan border ran alongside the river.  Here the Entwash branched into the many estuaries called the Entmouth. To avoid crossing several of the side streams had influenced Boromir's decision. Before branching the river was wide and the current significantly slowed down. However, there was no ford and he would have to swim all the way. 

 

His clothes tied into a solid ball, Boromir entered the water, pushing his belongings before him with every stroke. He was a well trained and strong young man but nevertheless as soon as he reached the other shore his body ached in every muscle and bone. Shivering from cold and exhaustion he dressed himself. Staying in the river valley was out of the question as he was much to much exposed. No matter how much he longed for a rest he had to make it to higher ground. This would take him into Rohan, but putting some distance between himself and the border enhanced the chances of remaining unseen. The rivers Entwash and Mering formed some sort of a triangle and he would use this to shorten his journey, by crossing the Fenmarch.

************************************************


	6. Borderland

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000ke97k/)

 

 

**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 6 [872]

My personal thanks goes to [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/)  for acting as Beta.

 

 

 

 

** Chapter 6 **

 

He was halfway through the Fenmarch when they closed in on him. His hair still wet and his clothes in disarray from the rushed dressing after the swim, he looked even less a member of a rich house of Gondor. The Riders encircled him, but did not draw their weapons. They knew he was alone. They had seen him crossing the river and their leader was only concerned about his information.

 

Boromir did not dare look the leader in the face. Theodred and he had met often in the past running errands for their respective parent. Being neighbours they had often met as children and even played together when their fathers met on campaign. Boromir feared that his Rohirrim counterpart would recognise him despite his disheveled appearance..

So he disguised his voice pretending to suffer from a cold; wiped his nose on his sleeve repeatedly and coughed often, spluttering and spitting.  Such behaviour was not to be expected of the heir to the Steward's throne of Gondor. 

 

Theodred did not have much interest in a vagabond Gondorian soldier. He could hardly hide the disdain in his voice when addressing the marauder. All he wanted to know was if he had knowledge of the recent dealings in the Eastfold. Edoras had received news of a great battle and he had been sent out by his father to gather information of the event.

 

Boromir's mind reeled, should he tell what he had done? Nobody would believe him. A single man killing off an entire army? No, better keep quiet about that.  He just shrugged his shoulders and pretended to be suffering memory loss. 

 

Theodred ordered him to leave Rohan, to which he agreed, stating that he was on his way back to Minas Tirith. The Rohirrim spurred their horses and rode away in the direction from which Boromir had just come.

_Dangerous orders my friend, Boromir thought, allowing himself to watch their departure. I hope you are not riding into a trap. I have made quite a stir over there and I believe that the area will be  swarming with Goblins, Orcs and Uruks. May the great Valar watch over you._

 

He couldn't help musing over the strange order his childhood friend had received. It was not like Theoden to send his only son and heir out on such a dangerous mission. Normally such errands fell to Eomir, Theodred's cousin, who was older, stronger and also the better soldier.  Boromir had known King Theoden as a loving and caring father, who would never risk the life of his beloved son. 

  
_Why had King Theoden sent his heir out to an almost certain death?  There could only be one reason for this harsh order. Theodred had done something to displease his father and they had had a falling-out. Had Theoden caught Theodred with one of the stable hands?_  On one of  his frequent visits Boromir had caught Theodred red handed and it had been the foundation to a great friendship and a love affair, at least for a while. 

 

  
_Then again why had the Rohirrim reacted almost hostile to the sight of a Gondorian? This did not make any sense at all_. Gondor and Rohan had been allies from the first day the Rohirrim had settled in the Mark. He had to reach Minas Tirith and fast. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Everything reeked of interference from Mordor. Sauron had to have meddled in this. 

 

Boromir rushed on eager to leave the Fenmarch and reach Firienwood. Once across the River Mering he would be in Gondor. Before nightfall he made it safely to the road and as darkness closed in he quickly crossed the bridge spanning the River Mering only to leave the road once again.

 

He walked further toward the beacon of Halfirien and in the dense forest of Firienwood made camp to rest for the remainder of the night. 

 

Just before dawn he woke, sweat covering his brow.  He had had the weirdest dream. He recalled dreaming of his father and especially the ring the twenty-sixth Steward of Gondor wore on his index finger of his right hand. A heavy silver ring with a large black onyx stone. The sides [](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kg888/)of the ring were cast as lion heads looking out of leaves. 

 

He couldn't know why he had dreamt of this ring, only that it had turned into quite a different ring. A ring made of white gold with two snakes, two crowned snakes. The crowns had been of yellow gold and between the heads of the snakes there had been an emerald. He knew he had seen that ring before. He had seen it on the hand of a man only he couldn't remember who or where. [](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kh7w3/)  


In his dream the snakes had unwound and crawled up the Horn of Gondor. They then twined themselves around the horn only to crush it. The Horn of Gondor broke into halves.

The snakes then reformed into a ring which slowly evolved into the One Ring. 

 

This dream had disturbed him.

 

He did not know what the meaning of all this was, but he had to go and see his father. Had to make sure that all was well in Minas Tirith.   
 

  
****

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kkwd0/)   


 

*******************************************************


	7. Druadan Forest

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kpw7w/)   
  
  
  
**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

  Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 7 [849]

Acknowledgement: To [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) my thanks for acting as Beta for my story.

 

** Chapter 7 **

 

After crossing into Gondor and creating a hideout in Firienwood, exhaustion overcame him. For the first time Boromir felt the pain of his chest wound. He needed rest. Firienwood was a dense enough forrest so he would remain unseen and he was now, finally within Gondor's border. This was his homeland. He was home.

 

Unfortunately Minas Tirith was still a steep march ahead and in his condition would take several days. As Gondor and Rohan were allies, it was most unlikely that he would come across another patrol of borderguards. Gondor had always concentrated her forces to the South and from the banks of the River Anduin towards the border of Mordor. He speculated that his beloved brother Faramir had assumed his position and guarded Osgiliath; at least what was left of the former city on the western shore. 

 

The rest of his way would lead him across Anorien and until he reached Druadan Forest he would be exposed with no place to hide. All he could do was keep out of sight of the beacons and their guards. To do this he would have to get as close as possible to the foothills of Ered Nimrais. 

 

That night he slept in a hollow on the ground covered with branches secure from being seen. But his sleep was restless and marred with the recurring nightmare of the ring crushing the Horn. This dream worried him so much that he woke early to press on. 

 

Each night he passed one of the beacons. First Calenhad, then Erelas and finally Nardol. He had lost count of the days and assumed that it was now well into the month of  March. The darkness spreading  across Middle Earth made it impossible for him to estimate the day or the month. An omen of the increasing power of Mordor. 

 

So ten days after the attack which had presumably taken his live, Boromir stumbled into Druadan Forest and the Grey Wood. Starving and exhausted he collapsed and lost consciousness.

 

When he woke he found himself laying in some sort of bed. A wooden frame filled with hay and covered with animal skins. His weapons and clothes were gone. He tried to get up but the room around him began to spin.  A short stocky man came towards him and pressed him back into the bed.  Boromir tried to focus on the strange creature but his head ached and he blacked out again. 

 

The next time he came to it was all dark around him. From a corner of the dwelling he could hear whispering in a strange language. He remembered having heard this language before. And suddenly it dawned on him, these were the Pukel-men. His friends in Rohan called them Woses. 

 

He lifted himself up onto his elbow. Suddenly a light was uncovered and three fellows came closer, each stocky and wild looking. Boromir looked about in search of his weapons but all he could see was the fresh dressing on his wound.

 

The leader of the Woses came forward and addressed him very formally. “You man of stone city,” he accused. Boromir nodded. “You come to hunt?” the man asked and added “Hunt us?” Boromir shook his head in the negative. The three fellows moved aside, put their heads together to discuss this information 

 

“I need to get back to the stone city.” Boromir said, but the three Woses shook their heads. “Man not go. Fires out side. You not go.” They said in unison.  It took Boromir a while before he understood. The City, Minas Tirith was under siege. Isengard and Mordor had joined forces and assembled before the city. The army was strong; it numbered in the thousands. 

Tears welled in Boromir's eyes and the Wose men felt pity for him. The next morning they led him up the mountain.  He overlooked the plain at the beleaguering army looking like a swarm of locusts amassed before the White City, which sparkled in the sparse rays of sunshine.

 

Looking at his beloved home Boromir broke down and cried.

 

The Wildmen of Druadan Forest dragged him back to their little settlement. “You here safe.” They said. “You stay.” 

 

Two days later two men rushed into Boromir's hut to announce that the strange horse men were coming. Boromir asked his new friends to help him with a disguise. They brought him clothes in their own style and he dusted his hair and face with ashes. 

 

He followed the Wose to the meeting place and soon stood before King Theoden of Rohan and his Eorlingas. King Theoden, seeing this strange man brought forward, misinterpreted the situation and assumed him the leader of the Woses.

 

He addressed Boromir not recognising him and asked for his name. Boromir recalled the words he had first heard on his awakening and answered: “I am great headman, Ghân-buri-Ghân.”

 

So it came that on the 14th March 3019 Boromir, a son of Gondor and heir to the Steward's Throne, entered the War of the Ring, unknown to all to fight and redeem himself in the eyes of the Valar.

 

 

*******************************************************************


	8. A New Leader

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000ktt1q/)  
Ed Beard Jr., Woses of the Druadan Forest lithograph

Destini Productions, 1995

Beard has released a number of designs he made for the cardgame Middle-earth: The Wizards as s limited edition print. 20x10"/50x25 cm. With a numbered and signed certificate. Limited to 2000 copies.*

 

 

**  
**

**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Word Count: Chapter 8 [1111]  
Acknowledgement: My warmest thanks to my good friend [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who acted  as my Beta and helped to make this journey happen.

 

** Chapter 8 **

 

The Druedain and their leader Ghân-buri-Ghân had proven worthy allies and so a messenger from Minas Tirith had come to Druadan Forest.  They were invited to attend the ceremonial crowning of the new king. At first they were a little reluctant but upon learning that all people of Middle Earth were invited they agreed to make an appearance.

 

After lengthy discussions it was agreed that Ghân and five delegates from the council of elders would attend the coronation.  Ghân didn't seemed to be happy about the decision but eventually submitted.  So early morning of the 1st May 3019  saw the little group make their way to the City of Stone.  Ghân tried desperately to slow their progress but with Minas Tirith not far from Grey Wood they reached the city before noon. The ceremony was scheduled for noon and the delegation arrived just in time. 

 

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kwe9g/)Immediately on arrival Ghân pulled the hood on his cloak over his face and kept hidden. He crouched low not to tower over his fellow Drughs and whenever possible tried to hide himself behind their backs. After the official ceremony the delegates of all people of Middle Earth were called forward to meet the new king. The Druedain had to follow protocol and as their leader Ghân was pushed forward by his companions to join the reception line. 

 

When they reached the throne of King Elessar, they made their obeisance and Ghân remained bowed throughout the entire proceedings. As he was not allowed to keep his head covered he made sure that his long hair fell forward around his face and shielded him. The king granted the Druedain ownership over all Druadan Forest and promised to have this decision proclaimed throughout all Gondor. 

 

Ghân gave a sigh of relief when the audience with the king was over and urged his companions to leave for Grey Forest. However, with lots[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kxpdd/) of food on display the members of the delegation were not willing to depart and so he was forced to be patient.

 

In front of the great hall of Minas Tirith the Drughs met with the new king of Rohan, Eomir. Even though at a banquet, Ghân started negotiations to extend the promise given by the previous king Theoden.  He wished the agreement renewed by the new king as well. No Rohirrim would hunt a Drugh in the future but would show them respect and treat them as members of the human race.

 

The counter-attack had succeeded only with the assistance of the Woses. King Eomir remembered this and gladly gave his handshake and the pact was mutally agreed to. All these on-goings were observed by Gandalf  The White with great interest. As soon as he saw Meriadoc Brandybuck in the crowd he waved to the little Hobbit to come and join him. Merry was only too happy to oblige and told Gandalf  how the Rohirrim had met with the Wosen in Druadan Forrest and the negotiations with their leader Ghân-buri-Ghân. Merry ended his account with the remark that this leader had seemed “unfamiliarly familiar”. Before Gandalf could ask for an explanation of this unusual description Merry had set-off and re-joined his fellow Hobbits in their feasting extravaganza. 

 

When on 25th June 3019 King Elessar rode out of Minas Tirith in search of a sapling of the White Tree. Gandalf decided to accompany him at least until they reached Druadan Forest. There the king and his host made a stop and the Drugh announced that two of theirs should join the royal party. This was graciously accepted by the king and he left, leaving Gandalf behind. 

 

As soon as King Elessar was out of sight Gandalf made his way straight to the dwelling of the hetman Ghân-buri-Ghân. He knocked at the door of the hut and on response entered. Inside in the semi darkness the leader of the Drugh sat on a bed of animal skins. Gandalf needed to walk around the trunk of a tree to reach him.. The accommodation was quite large but that it had been built enclosing a tree astonished the old wizard.  Ghân waved his hand for him to come closer and pointed to a little stool for the Istari to sit on. 

 

The long hair and beard concealed his face but once he started talking the old wizard recognized him. “Boromir, you are Boromir, son of Denethor II Steward of Gondor.” Gandalf exclaimed.

It was useless to deny the truth and so Ghân alias Boromir confessed.  In a way this was a relief to be able to talk about old times and ask about the other members of the fellowship. Gandalf was only to happy to oblige the prodigal son and recounted the full adventure of all, humans, wizard, hobbits, dwarf and elf. 

Both laughed loud and heartily when Gandalf remarked that Boromir was not surprised to see him alive. After all, Boromir had witnessed his fall in the mines at Moria.. Boromir laughed at the remark and replied “and so am I.”

 

In the evening after a successful search King Elessar returned to the Drugh settlement. He had found the sapling and would take it back to Minas Tirith as a symbol of the renewed reign of the Kings of Middle Earth. Gandalf rejoined the royal party and on their way back he rode up to the king. “You need an adviser, King Elessar.” He began, “You need a new steward to hold council with you. Even Lord Elrond has a councillor.” The king nodded. “You are right my wise friend. Only I don't know whom to make my councillor. The Prince of Ithilien seems so young and inexperienced.  I don't know. I really just don't know anyone who could fill this role. It will be very demanding, you know.” Gandalf smiled. “I have just the right man for you, Your majesty.” He said grinning.

 

On Midyears Day 3019 the wedding of King Elessar and Lady Arwen Undomiel was announced and again an invitation went out to the Druedain. This time the presence of one Ghân-buri-Ghân was explicitly requested and he was asked to attend a private audience with the king the day before the wedding. 

 

Ghân was taken by Gandalf to meet with the king. At the door to the great hall Gandalf turned and said, “I haven't told him your real name. He is expecting the leader of the Druedain. It is your choice to reveal the truth or if you prefer for him to discover it.” With these words the old wizard left and Ghân stepped through the door to meet his king.

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000kzhcy/) 

 

  
****************************************************************


	9. Home at Last

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000p31f4/)

 

 

**Title: COMING HOME**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 9 [1050]

Acknowledgement: My deepest thanks to my very good friend and Beta [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who has done a wonderful job on the long journey.

 

 

 

** Chapter 9 **

 

The king stood by the window looking out at the square where in its midst the sapling of the White tree had been planted. Worry lines marred the king's forehead. The visitor cleared his throat to make the king aware of his presence. However the king neither moved nor spoke. His gaze was fixed on the little twig in the soil. 

 

“Too little space. No room to grow. Too much stone.” Ghân said into the curious silence. The king then turned around to face his visitor. “Do you think so?” He said, “Was that the reason why the old tree died?” Face to face with his king Ghân bowed low; he dared not look up. 

 

The king did not seem to expect an answer to his questions as he moved straight to the bell and rang for a servant. The page appeared in the door a minute later and was sent off to bring glasses and a bottle of wine. The king waved Ghân to come closer and sit down. King Elessar suddenly shivered and went to the fireplace to warm himself. “It is still too cold for July.” he said. 

 

A knock at the door announced the return of the male servant carrying a tray with two crystal flutes and a fairly dusty bottle of red wine. Ghân recognised the label immediately.  _My father's favourite_ , flashed through his mind. A sudden sadness overcame him at the thought of his father. Of course Gandalf  had told him all that had occured in the city from the moment of his arrival with young Master Pippin. 

 

The king nodded approvingly at the page and dismissed him, declaring he would serve them both. As soon as the door fell shut behind the young man, the king turned towards his guest. “I am told,” he started, “that I should have an advisor. And to seek advice is why I have called you here today.” Ghân burrowed deeper into his chair but remained silent. “A wise man!” the king said, “A wise man, who remains silent until everything has been put before him.” Again no reply. The king reached out and handed his visitor the filled glass. He then poured a drink for himself. 

King Elessar took his glass and moving closer towards Ghân, sat down in the opposite chair. 

 

“Gandalf the Istari has recommended you. Recommended you to become my councillor, my steward.” At this announcement Ghân had to control himself. He took a sip of the offered wine, nodded approvingly over the quality and finally spoke up. “City of Stone has steward. No new one needed.” He had to check himself to maintain his masquerade. A smile played around the lips of the king. “Well spoken! Very well indeed! Only the steward is dead and his remaining heir has not been trainied in the duties a steward.  It was the older sibling  meant to fill the father's shoes.” 

 

Ghân buried his face in his beard and hair to hide his emotions. Expecting no reply the king continued on. “I have made Faramir of Gondor the Prince of Ithilien and I am not planning to take this title away from him. Aside from him being untrained for the role, he is by far too young and inexperienced. No, he can not be my councillor. I have need of a skilled and wise man as I plan to be successful in my reign.” 

 

The king gave an inquisitive look at the man sitting in the opposite chair and Ghân felt the blood freezing in his veins. _He knows. He waits for me to come forward to reveal my true identity._  He began to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. The king did not once take his gaze off  Ghân but sat silently waiting.

 

He took another sip but the wine went the wrong way and he had to cough. Finally Ghân got up, straightened to his normal size, walked over to the table and placed his glass on it.

Before speaking he cleared his throat once again as if he couldn't trust his own voice anymore.

 

“So Gandalf the White has recommended me as your councillor, M'Lord? You have such trust in his advice that you are willing to accept me as the right man for the job?” King Elessar started to laugh. “I always knew that there was more to you Ghân-buri-Ghân. You have been trained to be the 27th Steward of Gondor from a young age. You have gone through so much in your still short life. However, you are experienced and have grown in wisdom. Yes, I believe you are the right man for the job, my friend.” With these words the king rushed forward and embraced his visitor. “I am so glad to have you back, Boromir. So glad my friend I can't describe how happy I am just now, holding you and looking at you.” 

 

Ghân alias Boromir was lost for words. He bowed his head in reverence but the king would not allow it. “No, no please don't bow. We were friends and we still are friends. Nothing has changed. Apart from my wanting you to be my Lord Steward. I plan to inaugurate you tomorrow at my wedding.” Boromir was so overcome with emotion that he could only nod his acceptance.

 

The king refilled the glasses and the men returned to their seats. "What gave me away?" Boromir asked his king and King Elessar smiled. "You can change your looks. You  can even change your habits. However you will never be able to hide your love!" The king responded. "Your love for Gondor, for Minas Tirith, for your brother and for a ragged old grumpy man called Aragorn." Boromir blushed. It was true and he knew that not Gandalf but his own feelings for his loved ones had given him away. The king laughed heartily at his sheepish grin and reddening face. "The minute you entered the city your eyes started sparkling like diamonds in sunlight. Even hiding in your hood could not disguise you. You stood out to me from the moment you walked through the City's gate." After a brief moment of contemplation the king requested to know all that had happened and Boromir willingly gave his account. 

 

 

 

 

*****************************************************


	10. King Elessar

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000q4894/)

 

**Title: COMING HOME**

  
 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul  by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)   

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

 

Rating: PG

Wordcount: Chapter 10 [1043]

Acknowledgement: My deepest thanks to my very good friend and Beta [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who has done a wonderful job on the long journey.

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

  
The next morning saw King Elessar and Lady Arwen's wedding and in the afternoon the scheduled ceremony of the inauguration of the new Lord Steward of Gondor, Boromir II.

 

The King and Queen were seated on their thrones while the Prince of Ithilien and his wife stood to the left. The Prince held a cushion in his hands bearing the ring of the ruling Stewards of Gondor. His wife held the two parts of the broken Horn of Gondor. The place to the right of the king was empty.

Boromir walked up through the gallery of guests who formed an aisle to the thrones of the King and Queen. As he reached the pair he bowed low and on bent knee vowed his obedience to his Lord and Liege. As the words were spoken the King stood up and touched Boromir's shoulders and head with the broadside of his sword. 

 

Then the Prince came forward and the King took the ring of the Stewards and placed it on the index finger of Boromir's right hand. He spoke the following words. “This is the Lion Ring of the Ruling Stewards of Gondor. This ring is the symbol of the power of office whose dignitary you now are. Only the bearer of the Ring of Barahir rules above you.” And with these words he raised his right hand where on his index finger the Ring of Barahir was revealed. Two white gold snakes each wearing yellow golden crowns formed the body of the ring with an emerald between the heads of the snakes. 

 

Boromir reached out with his right hand and kissed the ring worn by the rightful heir of Isildur.  For a split moment as both hands lay upon each other it looked as if the Lion Ring was swallowed by the Ring of Barahir. A ray of sunshine struck the two rings and it appeared they merged into one. The sight made the onlooking crowd gasp in amazement. Suddenly Boromir saw it clearly, this was his dream come true.  At last he understood the significance of the rings; Barahir assuming ascendence of over the Lion. The rightful heir installed to the throne.

 

The Princess of Ithilien came forward next carrying the broken Horn of Gondor. Boromir looked at the remnants of his beloved Horn and tears filled his eyes. But the King spoke up again: “This is the Horn of Gondor. All of you know it. Often has its sound warned Minas Tirith and all Gondor of peril laying ahead. Now the trusted Horn is broken, as is our enemy. We are now preparing for decades of peace and prosperity. Therefore this symbol of war and conflict is no longer necessary. However we, my Queen and I hold this Horn in highest esteem and therefore it shall find its place in the Hall of the Past, where we will keep all symbols of our past history as a constant reminder and honour them for their valour in dark times.”

 

Thus spoken the King handed the Horn to Boromir who in turn handed it to a waiting page. With the Horn leading the procession the King and Queen and the new Lord Steward walked behind it followed by all the other guests. They were led out of the Great Hall and followed the Horn to the Eastern Tower where it would be placed on a velvet pillow for all Gondorians and visitors from far and wide to see.

 

When the company left the Eastern Tower Boromir fell behind until he walked side by side with the Prince of Ithilien. The men remained silent overcome with such emotion they could not speak. They stopped and let the rest of the party move on. Boromir signalled with his hand that he wished to take a different return and invited the Prince to follow. Before the two men knew it they were standing in the little private graveyard behind the Chapel of the Great Hall. They stopped at the tomb of Denethor and his wife Finduilas. In complete synchrony the two men each picked up a pebble and placed it on the tomb. Boromir finally broke the silence. "Did you see him die?" - "No brother, I didn't. I was gravely wounded and in fever and pain." Faramir replied. Boromir nodded. "Gandalf told me that he tried to burn you alive. Said that the pain of loosing us both had driven him into madness." Now it was Faramir's time to nod. "They told me that he had drenched himself in oil to burn along with me. His coat caught fire and he was covered in flames before anybody could help." The two brothers walked out of the graveyard and onto the platform which reached far out into the valley. At the very end they stood still in reverence. It was Faramir who broke the silence. "He jumped down here, they said." Both brothers walked up to the edge and looked down into the abyss.

Faramir soon withdrew and shivered. They turned around and walked back toward the Great Hall. Just before they reached the door Boromir grabbed his brother and hugged him tight. "It's good to see you again, little brother." He murmured overcome with joy and emotion. Tears sparkled in Faramir's grey eyes in response and with broken voice he replied "It is good to have you back. I've missed you."

 

Side by side the brothers entered the Great Hall and were soon greeted by members of the fellowship and their closest allies. Boromir found himself soon jumped on and patted all over by four very excited Hobbits and yes this included Frodo. The bass voice of a dwarf rumbled "Welcome home lad!" While the Elf very reserved only smiled and nodded gracefully. However that  was not to be and the Elf Lord  found himself embraced and hugged, all his careful and tastefully chosen clothes rumpled in the process. Boromir was re-introduced to King Eomir of Rohan, whom he knew of course from his childhood days. Finally, impatiently his brother took him by his elbow and dragged him off to meet with a beautiful fair-haired lady. "This is my wife, Eowyn." Faramir introduced his brother with pride in his voice while protectively and possessively placing his arm around his young wife's waist. 

 

  
Boromir bowed and smiled "When is he due?" he asked Princess Eowyn and his sister-in-law laughed and said "Why is everyone assuming she will be a he?" The response was drowned in laughter and the company sat down at a far end table in the Great Hall. There were many tales to be told and many memories to be shared. The King and Queen sitting at the other end of the Hall often stretched their necks when roaring laughter from the far end disrupted their conversation. After a while the Queen patted the hand of her beloved husband and whispered "Why don't you join them, my love. I can see that you are yearning to be there." The king excused himself and with quick strides crossed the hall to sit down with his friends.

 

The wedding and inauguration ceremonies were closed by a vast banquet.  Many cheers of “Hail, King Elessar!” - “Hail Queen Arwen!” and “Hail, the Lord Steward!” or “Hail, Lord Boromir!” could be heard until late into the night.

 

The next morning the new Steward had his sleep interrupted by the sound of many voices below his window. Word of mouth had spread a rumour throughout Minas Tirith that Lord Boromir the new Lord Steward was indeed none other but Boromir the Captain of Gondor and the firstborn to the late 26th Steward. People had gathered around his quarters and fathers lifted their sons onto their shoulders to get a glimpse into the windows. The noise had woken Boromir and he rose, dressed and was greeted with hello's and many huzzah's as he stepped out of his door.

Many old soldiers recognised him, confirming to those standing next to them that this indeed was the man everybody had thought dead. Now returned and installed into his rightful office by the righteous King Elessar.

 

Having searched for his Steward in his rooms of office and unable to locate him King Elessar finally found his Lord Steward standing in the Great Hall of Kings staring at a painting. He came near and to his astonishment found that the painting showed the last king of Gondor as he faced his greatest nemesis. “What is it my friend, are you sad?” - Boromir turned and said, “No, M'Lord, not sad, just… It was the memory of this painting that kept me going. What a great man though an even greater fool was King Eanur.” King Elessar lifted his brow. Boromir turned and smiled “It takes guts to admit defeat and a strong character to carry on even though one knows that the next step may lead to certain death.” The King placed his arm around the shoulders of his friend and drew him close.

 

 

 

  
 

 

 

This chapter is followed by an Epilogue which turns the events of this tale entirely. If you are in for a happy ending please do NOT read on. 


	11. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU LOVE HAPPY ENDINGS DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT READ ON IF YOU ARE HOPING FOR A HAPPY ENDING!!!!

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000q7ks7/)   
  


**Coming Home - Epilogue**

 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by and for: - Earnur before Minas Morgul   by [](http://triestine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triestine**](http://triestine.livejournal.com/)    

(Earnur; No Rating; Silmarillion art.)

Rating: PG

 Epilog Word Count[640]

Acknowledgement: My greatest thanks to my very good friend and Beta [](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ingrid44** *](http://ingrid44.livejournal.com/) , who has done a wonderful job on the long journey.

 

 

 

The Queen had spent all night at the bedside of her sick husband. The king's sleep had been tormented worse than usual. Sweat glued his grey hair to his forehead and brow.. The Queen sat holding his hand whispering soft words to quieten him. 

 

Suddenly King Elessar sat upright in his bed. The nightshirt clung to his sweaty chest as he looked around with wild eyes. "Where is he?" He shouted and received only raised eyebrows in response.  He jumped out of the bed, staggered for a moment then ran out of the room before the Queen could prevent him.

 

  
He went along the corridor opening each door he passed checking the rooms. "Where is he? Where is he?" he shouted over and over. In his search he found many empty rooms, the furniture covered with cloth and dust laying thick on them.

 

His courtiers called out in panic for him to stop and to return to bed as he was unwell but the King wouldn't listen. “I must find him!” he replied.  He screamed at the top of his voice, “Where are YOU? Don't hide away from me!” Queen Arwen tried to catch-up with her husband, “My Lord, my Lord, these rooms are all sealed  just as you ordered.” She cried. 

 

Barefoot and without a proper coat Elessar stormed off and ran over the snow covered courtyard to the West Tower.  There he made his way to the office rooms of the Steward of Gondor. The rooms were desolate with spider webs clinging to windows and walls. Since the death of Denethor the rooms had been unused and whatever remained there was decaying. Elessar was almost overcome at the sight. He wiped his forehead with shaking hands in disbelief.

 

The King stood at the doorway thunderstruck, swaying slightly as if dizzy. Turning suddenly he ran past the astonished servants and his frightened wife straight to the stables. He saddled his horse and against all protests rode out of Minas Tirith. The King's personal guards followed him shortly afterwards. “Bring him back safely.” The Queen shouted in distress. 

 

King Elessar spurred his horse and galloped into Druadan Forest. He rode crisscross through the dense trees and undergrowth in search of the Druedain village.  Finally he found the settlement.

 

Jumping off his horse he shouted "Boromir, Boromir." and as if crazed added "Ghân! Ghân-buri-Ghân, where are you?"  From out of one of the huts a very old man appeared leaning heavily on a walking stick. "You called me, my King?" he answered, but Elessar looking at the old man shook his head. "No. Where is Ghân? Where is he?" he demanded. "I am Ghân, my King."

 

"No, not you, the other leader.  The Ghân who attended my wedding; the Ghân who negotiated your continued peace with the King of the horsemen Eomer.  Where is he?" 

 

 The old man just kept shaking his head in denial and said, "You were also shouting out for Boromir as well, my Lord. You of  all peoples should know. For you were there, present when he died a long time ago." The man replied. 

 

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000q9py0/)The King's jaw dropped at these words. Tremors shook his body and he collapsed to his knees. Just at this moment the guard rode into the village and his captain ran towards him to sieze him at the very last minute.

 

"Forgive him, Master Ghân." The captain said. "Our king is ill and has been so for a long long while. The Queen is very worried about his health. She has decided to send him to the warm healing wells. She hopes this will cure him." Ghân moved closer to king, carefully inspecting the unconscious man and then turned away without a word. He waddled aside then watched while the guard left, carrying their King.

 

He turned to his hut scratching his head and murmured. "Boromir? Looking for Boromir?”  He shook his head and went back into his hut. “The king is dead. Long live the king!" he whispered.

 

  
**THE END**  
                                                                     [](http://pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/pic/000qaasx/)  



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